


Coffee Break

by a beta perspective (Ejunkiet)



Series: Moving Back Home for Dummies [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Derek, Gen, M/M, breakfast bribery and coffee dates, post-3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/a%20beta%20perspective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you bring me breakfast? This better not be a bribe, Stiles - this is a <i>police station</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Break

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small continuation of 'Nowhereville', which is set several years on from the canon. This series has spoilers for 3b's finale, and it may help if you read Nowhereville first, but it is not necessary.

"Heads up!"

Derek barely has the chance to look up from where he is brewing another pot of coffee to snatch the projectile from the air before it hits him in the face. Paper crumples around his fist, and he takes a moment to register just  _what_ he is holding - the garish branding of the new coffee shop down Main Street is easy to identify - before he glances back along its flight path to pinpoint its origin.

“Stiles.”

His voice is surprised as his lips quirk involuntarily into a smile. Stiles grins from the doorway of his impromptu office, a wide, devilish smile that takes over half of his face as he lounges against the wooden frame. His fingers wiggle in a small wave, long and spindly, and exaggeratedly childlike.

"Hey, Deputy."

He hovers in the doorway, his limbs nearly twitching with nervous energy as his eyes scan over the details of the room, the scarce personal affects Derek has seen to outfit it with. Stiles is curious, inexorably so, for this new Derek - the one in a neat button-up that’s popped a holes or two at the collar, almost buried amidst a sea of paperwork that covers every inch of available space on his desk and floor. _Some_ of which are in boxes, with names he doesn’t recognise, and some that he does - old case files, mysterious deaths, that his dad had pulled up when he had first learned about werewolves, going as far back as Derek’s family’s era.

"So you  _did_ get suckered into updating the filing system.”

He takes a step closer to get a better look, and Derek manages to exhale a sigh, lowering himself into his low seated desk chair with a squeal of leather and heavy measure of regret.

"Yes."

The look Derek shoots him is wryly amused, which is impressive in and of itself, considering his job at the moment as a glorified station errand boy. Yep, Stiles was _well aware_ of the ‘adventures of an American werewolf in the Beacon Hills police department’ from the sheriff himself, who, drunk on the delights of stiles’ home cooking - the sucker - had been more than happy to fill him in on the details. From work as an outside contractor employed by the Argent’s private hunting company (and man, Stiles had never seen that coming) called in as a ‘wildlife expert’, Derek had applied to become a full time employee of the Beacon Hills PD a year and a half ago, and had been recently deputised.

Derek, as the newest recruit, was subject to the worst jobs of their division, like ticketing and managing the remains of the old filing system that hadn’t quite yet been transferred to digital copy. Which meant paperwork, and lots of it, if the sheer volume in his inbox gave any indication. Poor bastard. Now that Derek is seated, all that Stiles can see of him is his disapproving eyebrows, the rest of his face obscured by a precariously balanced stack of paper in front of him that wobbles unsteadily when he perches himself on the edge of the desk. It doesn’t topple, but it’s a close thing, causing Derek to curse and raise a hand to brace the pile, giving Stiles a dirty - or deeply browed, at least -  look.

"Please,  _please,_ be careful. What is this?” He shakes the bag lightly, careful not to disrupt its contents too heavily, before he pauses, sniffing. He brings the bag up to his nose and takes in a long breath, and Stiles’ can’t help his grin at that - he has a weakness for when his friends act like their wolfie ancestors, sue him- when Derek levels him with another look. “Did you bring me breakfast? This better not be a bribe, Stiles - this is a _police station._ ”

"What? No! Consider this gratitude. Wait - that came out wrong. It’s a - thank you. For taking care of my dad while I was away."

Derek’s expression softens and he looks away, as Stiles tries to smile and not make this anymore awkward than it already is. He feels the weight of the years he’d spent avoiding this place - this  _place_ , not them,  _never them_ \- between them, like it’s a tangible thing within his chest.

He _hates_ how this is no longer as easy as it once was, and he wishes he knew how to change it. The breakfast  _is_ a thank you, but also a peace offering - a chance to maybe get to know _this_ Derek better. Now that he's here, though, he's no longer sure he knows what to do. This isn't like college - you can't just  _fake it till you make it._ Not when he actually gives a fuck about Derek, and what he thinks.

He shifts uneasily on the spot, watching Derek as he shuffles through the bag and withdraws the cranberry muffin, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. He brings it closer, sniffing it _again -_ and Jesus, you’d think Stiles had made a habit of poisoning Derek in the past.

(It had, in fact, only been that _one time,_ and they'd all agreed that it was an _accident, d_ _espite_ a certain Hale's objections.)

By any means, that _incident_ did not warrant this degree of suspicion, and Stiles has just made up his mind to say as much when Derek finishes his examination, looking pleased as he places the muffin carefully onto a stack of papers on his desk- and promptly tears it in two. A noise escapes Stiles' throat at that, a crushed sort of ' _you're breaking my heart along with that muffin’_ sound as he separates the halves, leaving one on his desk as he sends the other sailing through the air towards Stiles.

“Heads up.”

Stiles fumbles the catch, of course, nearly dropping it as crumbs cascade down his shirt – which had been _new, god damn it_ _._ He regains his composure quickly – _thank you, lifetime of similar events_ \- and narrows a glare at the other man over the massive pile of paperwork, brandishing the crumbling baked good as if it was the cause of all his problems - by which he means _Derek_.

“ _This-"_ he gives the muffin another shake for good measure, "was meant to be _for you._ ”

“I’ve had coffee. It kills my appetite.” His shoulders lift in a shrug as he pushes himself back in his chair, before he gestures towards a spot at his left side, which Stiles discerns after a moment of staring to be a chair _not_ buried in paper. By that, he means there is only a small stack, which Derek lifts and manoeuvres onto the desk with a single hand. “Will you join me?”

It’s a question, an actual question, with correct intonation and _everything_ , and if that isn’t a sign of how much things have changed, Stiles doesn’t know what is. He decides, then, that he’s going to start cataloguing these changes, marking all the little differences from when he was a scrawny teenager darting around the woods, trying to save the day – and if anything, Stiles will have something to do while he loafs around town. It sure as hell beats the  _waiting game_ that has become his life, waiting for responses from funding applications, job applications, _anything._

So he says “sure”, and they settle down to eat, and it’s easier than he thought it would be, and a bit fun, even when they have to cut it short when the Sheriff stops by and asks Derek to find a case file; one that he can’t _quite_ remember the name of, but knows involves the closure of an illegal zoo around a decade ago. When Derek asks a question and his father moves further into the room to explain, Stiles takes it as his cue and gets up to leave, clapping his father on the shoulder and directing a short nod towards the deputy. He has just made it to the door and is planning out exactly how he intends to spend his afternoon – productively, of course, by which he means _Mine Craft -_ when Derek apologises to the Sheriff and calls Stiles’ name before he leaves the room.

He pauses on the threshold and glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I have the day off tomorrow. Will you join me for coffee, maybe some lunch, to catch up? My treat.”

Stiles gives him a wide grin and nods, and by now, any last remnants of the tightness in his chest have eased. It feels like they've made a new start - and he thinks they can do this. Reconnect. He’s sure of it.

“ _Definitely_. Pick me up?” Derek smiles and Stiles stands there, smiling back stupidly until he catches himself, and turns to his dad, breathing out a laugh at the expression on his face. He twists through the door, wiggling his fingers once more behind him. “It’s a date. See ya tomorrow, Derek.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://abetaperspective.tumblr.com/)~!
> 
> Keep an eye out for more of this series!


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